


Romantic Comedy

by nuricurry



Category: Howl's Moving Castle - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, bookverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuricurry/pseuds/nuricurry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was one nice thing to be said about the notorious Wizard Howl, it was that he had an excellent eye for detail. That was how he began to notice certain things about his wife Sophie, small, homey, insignificant things, that made him feel terribly romantic and domestic and all manner of endeared to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Romantic Comedy

Howl had always prided himself on his attention to detail. It was a necessary skill of sorts, with his line of work; the slightest action made the difference between a spell and a curse, and those distinctions were very important when filling an order. That’s how he started to notice things. Small, homey, insignificant things, that made him feel terribly romantic and domestic and all a manner of things that his fitful previous incarnation would surely shudder at.

He noticed how Sophie never really made any real words in the morning, communicating solely through grunts and sighs and looks until she began cooking breakfast and the smell of charred wood and bacon grease loosened her tongue. She would wake up before him most mornings, shoving him nearly off the bed to make sure he actually moved, quickly getting dressed and ignoring his pathetic pleas for her to return to bed before shuffling off to check on the morning’s flower supply. The mornings he woke up first however, were a special delight because that meant he could fit her into the curve of him, breathing in the gingery scent of her hair and arms squeezing the slight dip of her waist. These mornings she generously indulged him, letting creeping fingers slip beneath the lip of her night shirt, and didn’t kick his legs away when they tangled with hers. He was dogged and without dignity, she knew, and so she responded to his pretty words and playful nudges with suffering sighs and sleepy kisses.

Sophie was strong and fire-bright, her presence a spark that lit up the world around her. But Howl had come to see that underneath her ember and flare she was still a woman with fears and pains. He knew Sophie truly, completely trusted him when she let him see the gentle heart she guarded with sharp words and harsh retorts. 

When they had found out that Sophie was pregnant, she had wept terribly, hiding in their bedroom and the door refusing to move. His heart had ached then. He was so sure she cried for the fact that she was now permanently bound to the awful wizard that he was because of the child she carried, that she had found regret. He had pleaded with her, trying to coax the door open to apologize for the life he promised to give her but had failed to do. But she had only refused, stuttering between sobs.

“What if I’m a terrible mother?!”

And he wanted to faint. He almost did. Because she didn’t fear their commitment, or her decision, or the lifetime with him she had vowed; she feared her own motherhood, something he assured her was absurd.

“ _Cariad_ , you will be a lovely mother,” he asserted, “You helped raise your sisters and they were brought up perfectly well. It will be fine Sophie, I promise.”

After much comforting and coddling, Sophie had finally opened the door, and he took her into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin and smoothing his hands over her back. Her spirit was like a fire that needed gentle tending, burning bright enough on it’s own, but eventually wearing down to embers and ash. He simply had to build her up again, a practice he took quite to heart, teasing and flattering her until that familiar look brought her eyebrows together, and her tongue lashed out with it’s heat. He had always been fascinated by fire after all.

She was a practical product of her upbringing, though as the years wore on, he saw little changes in her. He heard her spout curses when she stubbed a toe, had seen her make faces at Mrs. Fairfax behind her back when the older woman scolded her for her wild magic. Once, when Morgan was four years old and very disagreeable, he had caught her chasing him through mud puddles in the rain. He had made a movement to assist her in catching their naughty son, but stopped when he saw her smile and heard her laugh as Morgan slipped and slid through a patch of mud. He watched Sophie help him up, ignoring the brown water that soaked the hem of her skirts, before running off, stomping excitedly through each puddle she came across. Once they had both tired of the game, she had scooped him up under her arm, carrying him inside and scolding him for fraying the knees of his trousers as she took him upstairs to dump him into a bath. He never mentioned the incident to her, knowing that she would fume with embarrassment, though the next time it rained, he pulled her outside and pretended to be surprised when she slung a handful at mud at his back.

It always surprised him how little she understood her own presence to people. He was almost embarrassed to say that she left much longer lasting impressions on others than he did at times. She still thought herself plain in comparison to her extravagant husband, he had yet to find anyone that shared that sentiment. She was a woman of notice, blunt and firm with a humor that was seldom understood and little appreciated. She left her mark with actions and words, imprinting her memory on all those she met. He, of course, prided himself in being the one to notice her first.

He knew Sophie was a person fiercely protective of what she deemed her own; after all, he had seen her chase children off with brooms, shouting threats and venom when Morgan had come home with bruises from bullies. Their house was quickly known less as the home of the fearsome heart-eating Wizard Howl and more as the place where the violent Witch Sophie who talked life into shoelaces and buckets made her nest. However it had been quite a shock to find out she had placed him in that category, intentionally or not. He had been hiding in the back room of the flower shop, avoiding all the idle gossip and dainty sighs that came with the wedding season. He had been bent over a new spell, his quill scratching at poor construction and ill-conceived ideas, when his ears caught his name being said in the next room.

“I feel sorry for you dear,” a woman clicked her tongue with insincerity, “having such a flighty husband as that.”

“My husband has stuck close for the past six years,” Sophie quipped back easily, and he heard the register slam shut a little harshly, “So I believe he’s grown out of it.”

“You never know with wizards,” the woman continued, trying to sound concerned and not doing a very good job at it, “They could cast any manner of spell to manipulate things in their favor. It’s why I’m glad to be marrying a banker.”

“How nice for you,” Sophie’s voice was tight, and Howl flinched on reflex, “A boring marriage where you sit about suits that large bum of yours!”

Howl snorted inelegantly. The woman squawked in shock.

“I want to cancel my order!” she demanded shrilly, and he heard Sophie slam open the register again, “And I’ll never come back!”

“Good!” Sophie remarked as footsteps pounded towards the door, “I doubt your gaudy and vapid excuse of a wedding would garner any decent promotion for my shop!”

The bell had clanged loudly as the door slammed, and Howl risked peering out of the door connecting the two rooms. Sophie looked up, and he smiled at her disarmingly.

“Are you the only one allowed to doubt my integrity?” he asked, and she glared at him before turning his socks a terrible green color.

**Author's Note:**

> "Cariad" is a Welsh term of endearment, meaning "darling".


End file.
